


Scars of a Broken Mind

by Kaisha



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Draco and Harry Have a Lot in Common, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends, Friendship, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, No Smut, Past Child Abuse, Recovery, Self-Harm, Smoking, implied eating disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 21:44:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20477960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaisha/pseuds/Kaisha
Summary: In their Sixth Year at Hogwarts, Harry and Draco were always destined to meet in the bathroom that fateful day. But what if things had gone rather differently? What if instead the school foes learned that there was more to each other than met the eye, and neither of them had to suffer in silence any longer. This is the story of how Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter became friends at last.Or, Draco and Harry bond over their scars.





	Scars of a Broken Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I'm gonna preface this fic with a slightly major warning for self harm. There's no scenes of the act itself taking place, but it's still the focal point of this oneshot, though from more of a recovery/trying to work towards recovery perspective. You'll see what I mean should you choose to proceed.
> 
> I just got wondering the other day, what would have happened if Harry and Draco hadn't fought that day. What if they tried to work past their differences without any magic? And, in another world, I think it might have gone something like this...

When Harry Potter followed Draco Malfoy into the bathroom that day, he had expected some kind of fight, a duel. Anything. He had wanted to fight the other boy, especially after what he had done this year, like giving that cursed necklace to Katie Bell. 

But when he walked in there, when he saw just how badly Malfoy was breaking down in there, he couldn’t. He just couldn’t make himself. Draco Malfoy, Harry decided, was already putting himself through more than enough pain, enough torture, for anyone to handle. And Harry knew all too well what that was like. Though there was a part of him deep inside still screaming at the rest of him to confront the blonde haired boy, there was no way he could do that to him now. Yes, Draco might have been practically his sworn enemy, at least when nothing more extreme was going on around the school, but he understood this kind of situation all too well, after all, he’d been in it before.

Draco Malfoy, of course, had heard Potter come into the bathroom behind him, and despite all the other feelings he was trying so desperately to push away, he couldn’t help but wonder why. Why was it that Potter hadn’t confronted him yet? He’d expected to be shouted at, or some kind of spell - anything but the sheer amount of nothing that was happening at that very moment. If anything, it was worse than the pain he’d been putting himself through all this time. And that was saying something. Potter was probably laughing about it, waiting to run off and tell his perfect little friends all about how weak he was, how low he’d fallen, and worst of all, just how public just one of today’s breakdowns had been for him. Of course, someone like Perfect Potter would never have understood the kind of pain he was in. 

Harry wasn’t sure what to say, he wasn’t sure where he was supposed to start. He couldn’t even make himself move more than two steps ahead of the door. But he couldn’t leave either, not knowing just how much of a state Malfoy was in, so he watched as Draco continued to break down in front of one of the sinks, as he, only half in his uniform now clutched on to the sink as if for dear life and he smashed the mirror before him into tiny shards and didn’t even seem to notice the blood beginning to drip, drip, drip from his clenched fist. 

There was a sinking feeling in the pit of Harry’s stomach, growing stronger and stronger by the moment. He tried to tell himself that he was projecting, that what he was seeing now wasn’t what he thought, that Draco was nothing like him. But he knew that wasn’t the case. He could see it in the pale boy’s distant reflection. It was then that he really noticed what Draco had looked like this whole year. How different he had really looked from his real self. And as much as he hated to admit it, Harry was scared for him. 

Though Draco Malfoy had always been a slender young man, now he was positively gaunt and Harry could only help but wonder if he was even eating at all. And though his skin had always been exceedingly pale, it was a different kind of pale now, almost ashen. Not only that, but he looked like he hadn’t slept for this whole hogwarts year. How was it that he hadn’t noticed any of this until now? He should have known better but here he was, ready in all his blind stupidity to confront a boy who was in pain. He didn’t even realise how much closer he was now to Malfoy than he had been before he started taking in all that was really going on with the other boy, at least physically. He hadn’t meant to creep up on him like that, but now he was almost certain that the other boy would be able to feel his breath coming from behind his back, and if he hadn’t already smashed the mirror before him into nothing, he would certainly be able to see his reflection in the mirror. 

By now, Draco was sick of waiting for Harry to do something. And as much as he was trying to ignore the fact that The Boy Who Lived was right behind him, he couldn’t. Hell, his skin was burning from deep down inside, that oh so familiar itch he could never ignore, the one that was always there in some fashion no matter how much he tried to rid himself of it. And oh how badly he needed to right in this moment. And he could never - would never do that with someone watching him. And however this was going to end, Draco needed to get rid of Potter before things got any worse. 

“Get on with it then, Potter.” Draco said through his tears, without even turning his head.

“No.” Harry replied, in as soft of a voice as he could manage, something he found to be far easier than he had expected it to be. “I’m not gonna fight you Draco. Not today. I just… I want to talk. Not about… not about Katie Bell.”

“Yeah, well whatever it is I’m not interested so you might as well just go away and tell your stupid friends all about how pathetic Draco Malfoy is now.”

Harry sat down below the sink to Malfoy’s side, “No. I’m not telling anyone about this. It’s none of their business. And until I know you’re okay, I’m not leaving your side. Even if that means following you back to the Slytherin Common Room.”

“I’m fine.” Draco insisted. 

If there was one thing that Harry could be certain of it was that Draco Malfoy was anything but fine. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever told you about my aunt and uncle.” Harry started, completely ignoring how Malfoy was trying to get rid of him, “You and I… we’ve never really talked before, so I wouldn’t have had reason to.”

“Look Potter, I have no interest in hearing about your perfect little life with your perfect muggle family!” Draco snarled.

Harry laughed bitterly, “Yeah, about that…” Harry paused, uncertain how to begin, “They didn’t want me. And that was just the start. They never once treated me like an actual kid, they hated me and they treated me worse than a house elf. If I was lucky, then I’d get my cousin’s broken cast offs and some left over scraps to eat. I never even had a real bed till just before my eleventh birthday when they got scared because they realised people at Hogwarts somehow knew I was living in a cupboard. Even when I was small, and I mean really really young, I had to learn how to avoid a beating or being shouted at, or how to make sure I didn’t end up locked in the cupboard under the stairs without food for days on end. And they told me that it was all because of my blood. That it was… bad somehow. That I was nothing like their perfect Dudley and that I should have died with my parents that night. I think… I think they hoped they could beat the wizard out of me. They wouldn’t even have cared if I’d died. You know… coming here, to Hogwarts, I mean, it was the first time in my life I ever got to be truly happy, I ever got to feel wanted. By other people, at least. Because... “ 

Harry took in a deep breath before he decided to carry on. He’d had to think for a moment. Because if he wasn’t right about Draco, then his secret would be out to the whole school within hours, and the entire wizarding world within a matter of days. But he knew. He knew that in this moment, he had to. Because if he wasn’t going to be there for Draco Malfoy, then who would? So, he stared straight ahead and prepared himself for the worst.

“I hated myself. Still do, I think, but I’ve gotten better. And right now, I see myself in you Draco. I see a kid who doesn’t know how to make the pain inside stop, or to… feel better, or even just feel anything at all except self loathing and pain. Except you do, don’t you? We both do.” 

Harry glanced up towards Malfoy, and without either of them speaking a word, as soon as their eyes met, Harry knew that he’d been right. That he hadn’t been projecting in the slightest and the pair of them were far more alike than either of them had realised. 

It wasn’t as though Draco was feeling any better now that Potter had opened up to him, but at least he wasn’t crying quite so badly now. But that wasn’t his only problem. He didn’t know how, not exactly, but Potter knew. He knew the secret he’d been keeping these past months. Something that he’d even managed to hide from his Slytherin friends. Or so called friends at least. At least, if they’d noticed he was different now, they’d never mentioned it, never talked to him or tried to help him. But this was Potter. And yes, Potter had all but admitted to him now that he wasn’t nearly as perfect as he had seemed, but that still didn’t mean an awful lot. After all, he could have been lying. But one look at Potter told Draco Malfoy that he wasn’t. No, this was the truth. Perfect Potter was actually just about as broken as he was himself. 

But that didn’t mean that Draco wasn’t still filled with fear. But still, for whatever reason, he sat down beside his enemy. 

“Go on, Potter.” Draco said softly. Harry had never heard him speak like that before. On another day it might have been a welcome change, if not a suspicious one, but this wasn’t any old day.

For just a moment, Harry paused. He didn’t want to go through with it, not really. But if this could help anyone, even Malfoy, then it would be worth it. So it was settled. And so, the boy who lived pulled aside his robes and rolled up his sleeves. 

“I don’t remember when it started,” Harry said, “Not exactly. But I felt… like maybe I deserved it, and maybe if I managed to get all that bad blood out, then maybe I’d be normal, and maybe they’d like me, and then I kept going because I kind of liked it. I mean, I didn’t, but at the same time I did. And I thought it was helping me. Making me better and making me feel better because I could feel the pain that was on the inside on the outside. Because I could prove to myself that what I felt was real and I could feel it again whenever I needed to.”

It was only then that Draco noticed what exactly Potter had been trying to show him - though his words had given him enough of an idea already. He didn’t need to ask any more. 

Harry Potter’s arms, both of them, were littered with scars. They seemed to go on past the area that he could see, but Draco knew he didn’t need to see any more, though he couldn’t help but wonder just how much of the other boy’s body was so heavily scarred. He’d already seen enough of them for a lifetime on his own skin. But all of Harry’s scars were healed. Most of them were clearly years old, white, faded and barely visible. Some were more red and raised, but they were still healed. Weeks, maybe months old. They must have been deep, Draco thought. They were real, of course, Draco could tell that well enough at a glance. But on the off chance, however small it may have been, that this was a trick, wordlessly Draco reached out and touched them. If this was some kind of glamour, it was a bloody good one. 

“Congratulations, you’re now one of three whole people in the world who know my deepest darkest secret. Not so Golden anymore, now, am I?”

“But you stopped?” Draco asked. His voice was wobbly and broken by now. 

“I did. A few times by now, actually. It’s so hard to stay away from it forever, but… I think it’s worth it. I’m not… better now, but I know I’m better off without it. So far, this time I think I’ve made it about 4 months. I try not to keep track too much, because it only seems to make things harder for me. But it helps some people. I’ve made it almost a year before. And that helps… because even if I ever relapse again, I always know that I can get through it, no matter how bad it feels at that time. And with a couple of good friends for support too, I know I’ll be alright in the end.” Or, Harry thought, at least that’s what I tell myself. Of course, he had other vices that helped too, but this wasn’t the time for talking about that just yet. 

And slowly, sensing that it was his own turn to share, Draco rolled his own sleeves up. Harry tried his best not to react, but it was difficult. Whilst his own skin was covered with healed scars, very few of the marks on Draco’s skin had gotten to a similar state. At least of the ones most easily visible. Harry didn’t even want to think about how fresh some of them might have been, or what might have happened if he’d entered the bathroom even a few moments later. Seeing the Dark Mark on Draco’s left arm, though he’d had his suspicions beforehand, barely registered compared to everything else. And worst of all, that was also the area that Malfoy seemed to have paid the most… attention to. The only good part, Harry had to tell himself, that nothing that he could see seemed to be infected. 

“Draco… I… I had no idea. I’m sorry.” Harry said. For once in his life he was truly and genuinely relieved that things between the pair of them hadn’t escalated into some kind of fight. If it had… if Malfoy had done something to himself afterwards, Harry could never have forgiven himself. 

“I… I didn’t want it. Not really. I’d done it before, but… I, I’ve been… I’ve been trying to cut it out ever since and it just won’t go away… Why won’t it go, Potter?” Malfoy sobbed, instinctively grabbing on to Harry’s clothing. 

Harry was certain by now that the other boy had clearly been starved of love, or at least the right kind of attention. Especially here. Especially now. On any other day he wouldn’t have. Not Malfoy. But, again, this was no ordinary school day. And so, Harry enveloped his former rival in a hug. Draco, without missing a beat hugged Harry back, and far more tightly than Harry could have expected. And yet another of Harry’s suspicions was confirmed - Draco felt far, far more bony than any 16 year old boy should, and, he suspected, about as bony as he himself would be if he still lived with the Dursleys as he had when he was a young boy. 

Draco hadn’t realised quite how much he’d been bottling up until Potter had hugged him. He hadn’t even realised just how much he had needed someone - anyone, even Potter to hug him until that very moment. And naturally, it all just opened the floodgates all over again. Not that he’d managed to stop crying to begin with, but now it was on a whole other level. 

It was bizarre, now, that he already was beginning to think of Potter as more of a friend than a foe. But he was, for how could they remain so antagonistic towards each other now? Draco, at the very least, didn’t think he would ever be able to go back to treating Potter as he would have only a few hours before. Not now, not when he knew how much they had in common. Not now he knew what he might be driving him back to. It was too awful a thing to wish upon anyone else. 

Harry ran his hand through Draco’s greasy hair. A rather unpleasant sensation for him, but he knew that it might provide Draco a comfort, and Malfoy certainly wasn’t complaining. 

After a few minutes, when his sobs seemed to be coming to their natural end, Draco finally spoke again. 

“I… I guess we have a lot to talk about.” He said, his voice finally seeming more calm, more collected, more himself whilst at the same time sounding absolutely nothing like the Draco Malfoy that Harry Potter had known all these past years at school.

“And when you’re ready, you can always talk to me. I think… I think maybe it helps, if you can talk to someone who knows how it feels. I know we’ve never been friends, but I’m here for you. And… I might not always understand,” Harry glanced towards Draco’s dark mark, “But I swear that I’ll try.”

Draco shook his head, “It’s not that simple though, is it? I can’t just… go against him. He’d kill me... kill my parents. I… I’m so scared and I don’t have a single fucking choice. I didn’t sign up for any of this but I’m stuck in this bullshit and I just… I can’t. It… it’s all too much.”

At perhaps the worst of moments, Moaning Myrtle stuck her head out from inside her cubicle. Of course, Harry had almost forgotten. This was her bathroom. No wonder no other students had dared to come in and interrupt them.

“Oh. Draco, you brought a friend! Nice seeing you again Harry, it’s been far too long since you spent much time in my toilet.” 

So, this wasn’t Draco’s first visit to this particular bathroom… Harry was hardly surprised. Although he did have to wonder how on earth Draco was able to willingly put up with anyone like Myrtle any more than he needed to. Not only that, he was rather disappointed that Myrtle recognised him so easily. He’d made a point of avoiding her as often as he could in the four years since he’d brewed Polyjuice Potion in this same room, but it wasn’t always an easy task. All this while, of course, Myrtle floated closer and closer to the pair. If she’d noticed each of their scars, she hadn’t mentioned them. To this very day Harry didn’t know how on earth he’d gotten away with her not saying anything about them two years prior when she insisted on joining him in the bath before the second task of the triwizard tournament, but at this point it was almost ridiculous. Still, it was better than the alternative.

Harry forced a smile, “Long time no see. I did wonder how you’ve been, but I’ve been so busy with… everything.”

Myrtle was already uncomfortably close to them for both boys’ liking, “I didn’t know you two were such good friends. Draco’s never mentioned you as one of his friends before. Although I wish you’d come see me more often Harry. I do miss you terribly.”

The boys looked at each other, because they didn’t know themselves what they were supposed to tell Myrtle. Were they friends now? Perhaps. But they weren’t going to have that kind of conversation with Myrtle peering in. 

“You know if you did both want to… clean up while you’re here, I wouldn’t mind. You’re both such lovely handsome boys after all. Or maybe you could brew some more potions here Harry? I wouldn’t tell on you, of course.”

Harry had to stop himself from shuddering. Of all the things that he was likely to do in the world, undressing in front of Myrtle with Malfoy was decidedly at the bottom of his list.

Draco shook his head, “Not today, Myrtle. Look, I promise I’ll come see you again soon, just… I need a bit of time.”

“Oh…” Myrtle said sadly, as she began to sink through the floor. “Can I help?”

Draco shook his head, “Not this time. I’ll tell you next time, I think. But I’ll be alright.”

“The offer’s still open Draco, and for you too Harry of course. It does get dreadfully lonely being the only ghost in this toilet.”

In so few words, Harry had learned - or at the very least assumed, a great deal. Not only were Draco and Myrtle friends, it seemed as though she was the closest he had to a best friend. Who would have thought that Draco Malfoy would have been so close to not only one of Voldemort’s victims, but one who had been muggle born at that? Still now it made sense as to why Myrtle had seemingly not noticed - she had already known. Perhaps he had misjudged the ghost girl after all, just as he had misjudged Draco Malfoy. Was Draco even the first hogwarts student to confide in her? Harry doubted that rather significantly now. Indeed, he strongly suspected that it wasn’t that Myrtle didn’t notice his scars that night in the bath, but that it didn’t matter to her. Or, she knew that he might be in pain. He never thought he’d find anything about Myrtle to be even remotely comforting, but after this he knew that, in her own way, she could be an incredibly good friend at times. And Harry couldn’t help but deeply respect and admire that - even to the point where he was genuinely considering visiting her again on purpose. Yes it seemed as though she’d made the same offer to Draco as she had to Harry himself just before he ventured into the Chamber of Secrets, but in a weird little way, that seemed almost sweet to Harry in this context.

Harry looked towards Draco, “Actually, I have an idea. Come with me.” Draco thought for a moment before he nodded and began to set his uniform back in order. And as he turned to Myrtle, Harry did likewise, “I’ll see you later Myrtle. I promise, this time.”

“I’ll be waiting, boys.” Myrtle said, with one of her signature little laughs accompanying it. 

Soon after, the boys left the bathroom. At first, Draco followed Harry on to the school grounds in near silence, but as the duo approached the whomping willow, he stopped, “This isn’t some kind of trick is it, Potter?” 

Harry turned his head towards the slytherin boy, though they had been walking side by side just a few moments prior, as soon as Malfoy had realised where exactly they were headed, he’d fallen behind, “No. Not a trick. Just… I know a place. It’s somewhere no-one else goes, no-one else even knows about. Not even Ron and Hermione know I come here for some peace and quiet sometimes.”

“The whomping willow? Are you trying to get us both killed?” Not that Draco would have minded all that much, considering the year he had had, but at least a little prior warning wouldn’t have gone amiss. 

“There’s a passage,” Harry replied, “If you know how to get in then it leads to… well, it leads somewhere else. Somewhere safe.”

Still not fully trusting the other boy, Draco let Harry go first, idling a little behind him, but following him nonetheless. He hadn’t expected Harry to calm the whomping willow, of all things, down, and he certainly hadn’t expected to follow him through the passage beneath it.

“Professor Lupin used to come here to transform when he was at school. And then again when he was our teacher. My dad, Sirius and... Wormtail would come with him in their animagus forms so he wouldn’t get lonely. That’s how I know about this place. It’s where I first met my godfather.” Harry explained to him along the way. 

Draco could hardly believe that they had ended up inside of the Shrieking Shack. But in a strange sort of way, it made sense. No-one even really knew that there was a way inside this place to begin with, but lo and behold, here it was. And not haunted was just an added bonus. 

Draco watched as Harry pulled a kind of secret stash out from its hiding place amidst some of the rubble in the shack before returning to sit opposite him. 

“I’d never have expecting you to be friends with Moaning Myrtle, of all people.” Harry said, breaking the silence that had already lasted far too long between the pair. 

Draco smirked, “She’s alright really, once you get to know her. That girl really does know how to listen. No… she… she’s been there for me. A lot. Especially since…” His voice trailed off, until he cleared his throat and acted as though he had never said anything to begin with, “You’d never have guessed that my first real friend would have been a ghost who hangs around in bathrooms, now would you Potter?”

“Especially not her. But I think I get it now.” Suddenly remembering the events of four years earlier, Harry remembered that he had never actually thanked Malfoy all those years ago. If not for him, Harry would never have found Ginny in time. And after the day they’d both had, this seemed as good a time as any, “Anyway… I never thanked you. If you hadn’t told me how Myrtle died all those years ago, I’d never have found the Chamber of Secrets. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

Draco looked at him, entirely perplexed, “Potter how could I have done that? Honestly, I think you’re losing the few marbles you’ve got left.”

“Christmas, Second Year? Crabbe had a stomach ache and both he and Goyle were just acting plain weird and quizzing you on the Chamber of Secrets and the Heir of Slytherin before they both scarpered and were later found locked in a broom cupboard? And I only know Myrtle because me, Ron and Hermione used her bathroom to brew a potion in secret that year.”

“That was you?” Draco asked, loudly, but in almost a laugh, “Are you sure you’re not meant to be a slytherin? Bloody hell, I knew something was up, but I never thought it was you. Should have thought of doing something like that myself, to be honest.” Draco scoffed, “Any other night and I’d be furious. Wait - hang on, what do you mean I told you how Myrtle died, she’s never told me, I never even met her till Fifth year.”

Oh, Harry realised, so Draco didn’t know. “The muggleborn girl. The one the basilisk killed the first time the chamber was opened. That was her. She never left that bathroom.”

Draco grew quiet, and in an instant, Harry regretted ever opening his mouth. He should have known better, having barely pulled Draco through this patch of darkness earlier that same day. God, what an idiot he was. 

Within moments, Draco began to sob, and Harry saw Draco’s hands fumbling, trying to scratch away further at himself, trying to reach for anything he could use to give himself even more pain, even more satisfaction, even more of a release than that would ever be able to offer him. But not today, Harry told himself. Even if it took the whole night, he wasn’t leaving Draco’s side until this had passed. Because it would. Harry knew that all too well himself. Even if it didn’t leave him completely, which Harry doubted it ever would, he didn’t want to leave Draco alone when he wasn’t in the right mindset to keep himself safe, to look after himself. And so, gently, Harry took Draco’s hands. 

“No,” he whispered to his new friend, “Not happening.”

“Why not?” Draco asked. 

“Because you deserve better. You deserve so much more. Not even Voldemort deserves to feel the way you’re feeling right now. And that says a lot about how awful I know it is. And if you have to feel it, then the least I can do is make sure you aren’t feeling this alone.”

Harry had to admit to himself, not all of him was certain about what he’d just said about Voldemort. But still, he would stand by it if need be. Voldemort deserved to suffer, he deserved to be punished. But no-one in the world had ever or would ever deserve to want - to need to hurt themselves just to get through the day. Just to be able to barely live with themselves. 

“But I don’t,” Draco sobbed, “I don’t deserve any better than this. I’m no better than he is. I… he... I have to kill Dumbledore. But I’m too much of a fucking coward and I can’t even do it. Even though I know what’s at stake for my family.”

Whatever Harry had been expecting Draco to say, it hadn’t been that. He felt absolutely horrified, so much so that he couldn’t bring himself to say a word. But whatever he was feeling, he could tell just by looking at him, by listening to him, that Malfoy felt so much worse. This wasn’t the time to ask for details. Or to berate him. Had Malfoy even been given the option to refuse? But this was Voldemort after all, Harry thought, if Draco had tried, if he had dared, then he would already be dead. He knew that Draco and his family had never exactly liked Dumbledore, but killing him was another matter entirely. He didn’t know what he was supposed to tell him, now. Of course, he would have to tell Professor Dumbledore. But not today. And when he did, it would be out of concern for keeping as many people safe as he possibly could - yes, even Malfoy. He was just a scared kid like himself underneath it all. 

“You’re not a coward, Draco. After nearly 6 years of going to a boarding school with you I think I’d know if you were by now. I mean, you can be a bit of a git, sure, but I… I don’t think you’re a bad person. Actually, you kind of remind me of my cousin Dudley in that way. If things had been different, he might have been less of a git. Same goes for you. Although you’re less of a git than you used to be anyway. Two or three years ago, you wouldn’t have let me talk to you like this. Not to mention, your best friend wouldn’t have been the ghost of a muggleborn girl. Besides, I think she cares an awful lot more about you than about your connection to You-Know-Who.”

As awkward as it was, that was Harry’s version of a compliment for his former foe. He’d never gotten to know Draco well enough before to be able to come up with anything better. But after today, he was beginning to feel like that was about to change. 

Still, Harry knew that he must have done something right… somehow. Malfoy began to laugh a little, through his tears. 

“Who’d have thought? A Malfoy and a mudblood?”

“Not me, for starters. Actually, I used to think you were the heir of Slytherin.” Harry said, finding a reason to laugh alongside the other boy, doing his best to ignore Malfoy’s particular linguistic choice.

Draco laughed harder, he had to admit, Potter wasn’t all bad. Certainly, none of his so called friends in Slytherin would have cared enough to have tried to cheer him up, especially if they knew just how rotten, just how disturbed he had become. Even those that had willingly sided with the Dark Lord, unlike himself. He and his family had already fallen to the bottom of the standing in their circles, and he didn’t wish to make things any worse.

Finally, Harry released his new friend’s hands, and returned a little of his focus to his now not so secret stash. Though he had debated whether or not to introduce Malfoy to his vice earlier in the day, he had to admit to himself by now that he was desperate for a fag. Dudley, rather unintentionally, had introduced him to the habit a couple of years earlier, when he was back in Surrey for the summer. 

One night, when his urges had been particularly bad, Harry decided to sneak out of his aunt and uncle’s house for a walk. On reflection, that in itself may not have been the wisest idea, but it was too far to change that now. But, as he reached the bottom of the stairs and took his coat, he didn’t realise at first that he had grabbed Dudley’s coat by mistake. And, although he immediately put it back, a half empty packet of fags, complete with lighter tucked safely inside, fell from his pocket. And though he didn’t quite know why at the time, Harry elected to take them with him on his walk.

That was the night Harry first discovered his new vice. And though it didn’t always work, not really, sometimes it was just enough. Sometimes he only realised just how bad he’d been feeling when he felt it all drain away. And sometimes that would be enough. Not even Ron and Hermione knew about this, even though they knew about his other secret. The last thing he needed was Hermione giving him a lecture on the dangers of smoking, and the risk of lung cancer. Even though he would tell her that he really was going to quit when he could, he knew she wouldn’t listen. And a part of him loved her all the more for that. After all, she had been the first person he ever told about the rest of his scars. There had to be a reason for that, didn’t there?

Harry pulled one of the packets of cigarettes from his stash, and he carefully took two from the already open box, as well as the lighter he kept within. Smoking in itself wasn’t the only habit he’d picked up from Dudley. 

He offered one to Draco, who had all but stopped crying again at this point, who, not for the first time that day, seemed exceedingly puzzled. “What on earth are you giving me?”

“Oh, you don’t have to take it,” Harry told him, “You know how Professor Grubbly-Plank smoked a pipe? This is like… the muggle version of that. It helps me, sometimes. And, well, after today…”

Draco, who had previously tried a pipe before anyway, graciously accepted his first ever gift from Harry. He was hardly going to turn anything down in his current state of mind to begin with. And after both of their cigarettes were lit, Draco began to speak again.

“I’d done it before. Before this year, I mean. But not like this. I thought… I thought I wouldn’t let it get out of control. But it did, didn’t it?”

Harry nodded in understanding. He’d felt that way more than once himself, in the past. And given the time, the help and understanding the other boy so desperately needed, he hoped Draco would be able to start to recover too. And Harry would do all that he could to make sure Draco received that. 

“Last year, whenever you had detention with Professor Umbridge, she’d make you write lines with these… these special quills. They didn’t need ink, but they’d somehow… they’d take your own blood for ink, and carve the words into your skin. She gave me a lot of those. And I thought I’d be able to stay strong. And I couldn’t. But I did get past it.”

Draco, having been central to Umbridge’s Inquisitorial Squad, had never been on the receiving end of any of her cruelest methods. Nor did he really know many people who had. But strangely enough, even though he felt partially to blame, Harry sharing his own stories with him was helping. He’d often felt as though he might be the only student at Hogwarts who had struggled even slightly in this way. But now he knew that he wasn’t. One of the worst parts of it all, for Draco, was feeling alone in it all. It only made all of his struggles all the more difficult. 

“You’re not… you’re not going to tell anyone about… about this, about me I mean?” Draco asked nervously, before taking another drag of his fag. 

“Of course not.” Harry told him, “Nothing we’ve said needs to go anywhere else, I mean, I guess we’re kind of friends now, right?” Harry gave Draco time to deny the suggestion, but he didn’t reply, “Look, I’ll try to find a way to help you. To… to keep everyone safe. Even you. Even your parents. But the rest… Not a soul. Even if we weren’t friends. I just wouldn’t do that.”

“You’re an annoyingly good guy sometimes, you know, Potter?” Draco asked, his telltale smirk beginning to return to his face. 

“Are we so new into this friendship that we’re still only on a last name basis?” Harry smiled, softly reminding the other boy that even though he’d been calling him by his first name almost this whole time, Draco himself was sticking to old habits.

“Suppose not… Harry.” Although, hearing it, he had to admit… it seemed strange. Still, it was the kind of strange he could get used to. 

“You know, you were right earlier.” Harry admitted, “About Slytherin, I mean. The Sorting Hat wanted to put me there. It only didn’t because I asked it not to.”

“I guess we do have an awful lot more in common after all.”

Harry and Draco spent so much time in the Shrieking Shack that day that they only barely made it to dinner in time. Still, it had ended up turning into one of the best days of each of their lives. And, true to the promises they made to each other, Draco never bullied Harry or his friends again. Though Harry, with a greater degree of success than he could have imagined, did begin to work on a plan alongside his trusted allies to make sure Draco would never have to worry about managing to fulfill Voldemort’s task, he didn’t betray his friend’s trust. But from that day on, there was a sense that something had changed at Hogwarts for the better, and the two friends weren’t the only ones who felt it. They had a safe, hidden hideout away from prying eyes in times of need, and in time, much to everyone’s great surprise, Draco had befriended most of Harry’s other friends too. 

And so began the friendship between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. And it was incredible. From then on, each of the boys always knew that they had a friend at hand to help them through their times of need, and another if they were to count Moaning Myrtle. And all was well.


End file.
